3 2 1
by Kawai Nakumora
Summary: Newest girl to be added to the Lab, how does she interact with the few she's come in contact with?


3… 2… 1

Within five minutes of starting my new job, I began to question my sanity.

One might call that a drastic clause, but I found it fitting with the unusually laid back expressions of the lab inhabitants, which took me by complete surprise. From what I had heard, the lab was one of the best and most professional in the country. Apparently, I had obtained false information.

From what I guessed, there was at least four CSI's lingering around the large building that subtle Tuesday evening. The tour I was given by, what I was told, one of my supervisors, was short and not extremely informative. Gil Grissom apparently was in the middle of a very large case, and it was slightly understandable he didn't want to deal with a new staff member that moment. But still, I was slightly irked.

I wandered around the halls, glancing from here to there, occasionally giving a curt nod of approval and moving on. The labs were entirely surrounded by glass walls, which allowed me to observe without interrupting the scientists' work.

I had done a quick walk through of the majority of the labs before stumbling upon the break room. In said room were two men, one a tall, broad shouldered brunette who was currently chuckling at something I had not caught. The other was a slightly shorter male with haphazard blonde hair which stuck up. The blonde was currently in the middle of preparing a cup of coffee, my nose twitched at the scent. The room reeked of the caffeinated beverage.

I smiled politely, and almost turned to excuse myself when one of the men called out, "Would you like a cup?"

I turned to face the blonde, a bit surprised. But it passed quickly, "Excuse me gentlemen. But no, thank you." I smiled again.

Once again, I was interrupted before I finished leaving. "Wait." This was a slightly deeper voice, from the other man I supposed.

I glanced at him, a curious, yet perturbed shine in my eye.

"My name is Nick Stokes, CSI III, and this is Greg Sanders, lab rat." The brunette said a slight twang in his voice caught my attention. Western? No, southern. Definitely.

The blonde, Greg Sanders apparently, smirked a little at Nick Stokes. I glanced from one to the other with interest, keeping my same smile.

"Cleo Darin, I am psychoanalyst here on request of Conrad Ecklie." I said, choosing my words carefully. I felt my jaw lock, and my mouth twitch as I let the plastered smile falter.

The men glanced at each other for a moment, then back at me. "Well, if you'd like a tour, I'd be happy to show you around." Nick Stokes said with a friendly smile, that I noticed didn't quite reach his eyes.

"I'm quite fine on my own thank you." I said, and before I could be interrupted once again, turned and left the coffee infested break room to its glory.

-

I glanced in the mirror of the locker room subtly, making sure my carefully applied eyeliner hadn't run down my face yet. I stared. Reasonably pretty, high cheek bones, layered black hair pulled into a neat pony tail, slightly slanted eyes.

I turned the faucet and resumed my glance around of the locker room. I had been given a locker, which was on the second row from the left, number 154. My mouth twitched lightly at the smell of cleaner, and I exited the room quickly.

I turned another corner, and passed by a room with glass windows, which was common apparently. I saw Gil Grissom working on something, staring intensely at a piece of paper. As I walked on, a pretty woman with shoulder length brown hair passed by me.

A hint of a smirk on her lips, just barely a brisk twitch of the mouth, but enough to reach her eyes. I glanced behind me, as I turned again, she opened the door to Gil Grissom's office. I nodded and continued my self tour.

I realized after a few seconds I had completely circled the interior of the building. I backtracked on my mind, thinking about the mental image I now had in place.

I began to think it was adequate, when my thoughts were interrupted.

"You know, you've circled this place a couple times." The voice was somehow heavy, almost snarky in a way.

I turned to face yet another unfamiliar face. He had grayish hair, and tired eyes. I blinked, but smiled.

"But of course, thank you for pointing that out to me." I said, nodding to him.

He paused for a moment, "David Hodges. Trace." He said, sticking his hand out for me to shake, which I did for no longer than an appropriate amount of time before recoiling my hand. After I didn't say anything for a moment he added, "And you are?"

"Oh, forgive me. I am Cleo Darin, psychoanalyst." I smiled, that same, plastered on smile that I've held for years. Just for situations like these. I felt like a china doll with the painted on lips.

"Ahhh, right. Greg was talking about you earlier. Something about Ecklie's newest slave driver." This man had no fears.

I remained still for a moment before letting out a slight chuckle, "Cute." I said and turned. "It was nice meeting you." I said over my shoulder as I trailed back down the halls.

I heard David Hodges mutter something before turning back into his glass prison.

-

Three weeks, I had been here. I closed the locker door quietly. Such a long day, tedious job. I sat down heavily on the bench, and wondered silently to myself why I do what I do.

I suppose it's a love for the human mind and getting ever so closer to understanding the complexity of life.

I mumbled aimlessly to myself for a moment, until my thoughts were wrenched away by a stifled laugh. Two women stood a few feet away in the locker room, laughing about something.

My eyes focused on the locker in front of me. And soon I had realized I was the object of their conversation. Oh what a day.

After a few more moments, I figured they had assumed things about me that weren't entirely true.

Gossip is evidence of an ill informed mind.

I stood, and exited quickly. As I passed them, their voiced stopped, and a look of petrifaction was on their face. As if they had though I heard them. Which I had, but all the same it didn't matter. They made their own assumptions about me. It was their right as a human being.

I entered the break room and sat down with a heavy sigh. Again, my nose twitched at the overpowering smell and I just chose to close my eyes. Two cases, one serial killer, who had been put away last night after I diagnosed him with chronic schizophrenia, and obviously he would plead insane in court. I hated that ruling.

The other was a teenager I wasn't so sure was guilty. And I was spending far too much time thinking on why he had lied, run away, attempted suicide, etc. I rubbed my eyes for a moment, and then blinked them open, convinced I was awake again.

I hadn't even noticed when someone else entered the break room.

Greg Sanders stood a few feet away, pouring another cup of coffee for himself. I watched with mild interest as he turned to me.

"Oh, I though you were asleep!" He said, smiling.

I raised an eyebrow, and shook my head slowly.

"It would probably help if you had some caffeine in your system, taking on the graveyard shift on only your third week? Rough." He said, sitting down across from me. His face held an almost exaggerated smile, but he was rather genuine with his comments.

"Don't you have work to do?" I asked, realizing only after I said it, it was a rather curt statement.

He laughed and sat back, "Taking a short break, everything's processing right now anyways."

I nodded in approval, and the room fell into an awkward sort of silence. My eyes traced the outlines of the walls, the ceiling, and the counters. Looking anywhere but directly at Greg Sanders. If I did, I knew it'd say something else stupid.

"So, tell me about yourself Cleo." He said, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table, his hands clasping in front of the steam cup of coffee.

I met his eyes, and for a moment my mind flickered into analyzing state, my eyes moving about his features for a moment before I finally closed them and shook my head.

"Ah, um, what would you like to know?"

"Anything! This isn't an interrogation, just tell me something."

I opened my eyes slowly, and stared at him. He was being serious.

"Uhm… I was born in Colorado, on July 25th, 1978. I have one younger brother named Jeffree, he lives in New Jersey…I graduated from High School in-" I began awkwardly.

"Whoa, whoa! I said this _isn't_ an interrogation!" He laughed.

I shifted uneasily and looked down. I was not good at communicating with people.

Apparently, he had noticed; "You're not very good at this, are ya?"

"Mmm, not really," I answered honestly.

He hummed quietly for a moment before chuckling, "Try again."

My head shot up so I stared into his eyes for a bit. He wasn't joking. "Are you making fun of me?"

"No, no! Nothing like that!" He laughed, holding his hands up in defense. "I just want to know more about you is all."

I eyed him suspiciously for a moment before consenting with a sigh.

"Well then… I…" A very, very long pause. "I'm allergic to cats."

The room was eerily silent for a moment before he burst out laughing. He resting his head on his arms which were outstretched on the table and I watched as his shoulders shook with amusement.

I felt the blood rush to my face, "Sorry, I have to go." I said, standing up quickly.

"No!" He chuckled again, his face also flushed, but from the lack of air… From laughing so hard. "It was good; it was good, sit back down."

I paused, but did so. I didn't really have anywhere to go, so why wander around the building aimlessly until something did come up.

He smiled, and I rubbed my hand over my eyes. "Sorry, I am just… really bad at talking with people, you know? It's why I became a psychoanalyst. So I could figure things out about a person from affair, without having to talk to them very much."

He paused, and I glanced up at him. "But… doesn't that defeat the purpose of communication?" I raised an eyebrow. "We're supposed to talk, to communicate. Sure, you can figure things out about a person from affair but… do you really know them?"

A pause, a smile, and a nod. "Yes, I suppose you are correct…. You are more than meets the eye Greg Sanders."

"It's just Greg." He stated, and slid the still-steaming cup of coffee across the table to me. "Have a sip; it's my special, secret blend of coffee."

"Oh, I don't-"

I was cut off, "Hey, no one turns down _my_ coffee! Besides, this is probably a once in a lifetime opportunity."

I looked from him, to the coffee, then back to him. He waved his hand as if to say, "Go on, it's not poison". I raised an eyebrow skeptically, but raised the mug to my lips; the steam swirled around my face, dampening it slightly. I took a sip of the hot liquid and set the cup back down, but hesitatingly.

"You're right, this is good."


End file.
